The Most Beautiful Bitter Fruit
by PhoenixNoTreble
Summary: "No matter how far away that day was, no matter how impossible it was, they were waiting for it.   They were waiting for their happy ending.  Because even sinners like them deserved a shot at happiness." 100 Themes of Royai, mangaverse.
1. Chapter 1: Military Personnel

**AN: I decided to take on the "100 Themes of Royai", because you can never have too much of a good thing.   
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1: Military Personnel

Their presence was magnetic.

There was something about the pair that simply demanded attention. Whenever they would walk into a room, their every movement would be tracked by curious eyes, taking in even the most subtle of behaviors. They were charismatic, professional, proud, regal. They stood side by side, shoulders square, backs straight.

It seemed that they were always perfectly synchronized. Almost as if they could read each other's minds. There was never an awkward moment between them, never an unwelcome silence. They were superior and subordinate, but neither led and neither followed.

Despite all the attention they received, they were very rarely spoken about, and nobody dared to mention their relationship. It was a taboo topic among the military personnel at Central. There was an unspoken agreement that that particular subject should never be brought up. But the words they wanted to say always remained on the tip of their tongues.

Perhaps it was because their relationship was so… unique. It was more than friendship, greater than love. It was a mix of loyalty and passion, a commitment that most people would never experience. Their relationship was brilliant in its subtlety. They were never caught doing anything unprofessional or improper, but the looks they shared were so intimate that the soldiers felt like spying whenever they would catch a glimpse of them. But it was impossible to look away.

What the inquisitive soldiers didn't know was that there was a silent promise between the two that was revealed in the Colonel's gentle touch and the Lieutenant's warm smiles, gestures that were reserved solely for the other. They never voiced their feelings out loud or discussed the state of their relationship. They were more than happy to just be in the same room as each other, breathing the same air. The only exception would be at the end of a particularly long day, where the Colonel would whisper quietly in her ear, "One day."

No matter how far away that day was, no matter how impossible it was, they were waiting for it. They were waiting for _their _happy ending. Because even sinners like them deserved a shot at happiness.

**If you have the time, a review (even if it's a flame) would be nice. I'll probably have the second theme up tomorrow.**


	2. Chapter 2: Gunshot

2: Gunshot

This was all wrong.

He cradled her head in his lap, his rough fingers gingerly brushing strands of golden hair from her pallid cheeks. His heart stuttered as she coughed weakly, her slim frame trembling from the very effort of staying alive. Warm, sticky blood was splattered across the front of her uniform, crimson on navy. There was no point in inspecting the gunshot wound; both knew what they would find.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice a harsh rasp, like the desert wind. Her eyes were already the glossy eyes of a corpse, filled with a light most people couldn't comprehend. She was fading into the realm of wings and halos, fire and darkness.

He had seen death before. He had made deals with the Devil, looked the reaper in the eyes, and stood before the gates of Hell. But he never once thought that he would see death reflected in his lieutenant's eyes. _His _lieutenant's. He had always thought she was untouchable, off limits; the one constant in his life. Yet here she was, slowly slipping away in his arms.

"No… Riza, I'm sorry... for everything I had to put you through… this is my fault." His voice wobbled dangerously, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "If I hadn't-"

"Don't." Her voice was soft but forceful, her eyes bright with pain but hard as steel. "Don't think like that. I chose to follow you… It's equivalent exchange." A small smile formed on her bloodied lips as she met his obsidian eyes. "You led the way in this life…I'll lead the way into the next. Please, Roy."

At the sound of his first name, he choked back a sob and pulled her tighter against him. Wordlessly he pressed his forehead against hers and laced her hand in his, giving her a gentle squeeze. Neither said a word as her heartbeats grew farther and farther apart and each breath became weaker than the last. There was no need to speak; words simply weren't enough.

Hours later, the couple would be found. One cold and lifeless, the other not much better off.

**AN: Well that was depressing. Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far; it really means a lot. ****I hope this lived up to expectations.. it turned out a lot differently than I thought.**


	3. Chapter 3: Battlefield

**AN: Sorry for the late update, I've been sick in bed the past few days. There isn't much Royai in this one, but I promise I'll make up for it in the next theme.**

3 – Battlefield

War is the creation of a God who loves to destroy.

Here, at the ends of the world, hope is a foreign concept. The sky and earth blend together as explosion after violent explosion hurl sand and shrapnel into the smoky air. A staccato symphony of gunshots and sporadic screams drown out any thoughts that don't relate to surviving or killing. And here, surviving and killing are one and the same.

The soldiers march, heads held high, not from pride but to avoid looking at the severed body parts and unidentifiable remains of their comrades. Unreasonable deaths for an irrational fight. Children, parents, friends, lovers – They were nothing but statistics to the rest of the world, a list of casualties in a textbook. Numbers that hold no meaning.

The battlefield was where humanity gave way to sadism and brutality. Right and wrong were abstract concepts of no significance. It was normal, acceptable to find the mutilated bodies of small children and desecrated women among the ashes and debris. There were no penalties for going beyond the brink of reason. The lives of themselves and others no longer had any value.

Most soldiers dreamt of the previous day's depravity, bitter and fresh in their minds. But there were three soldiers who entertained ideas of revenge, thoughts punishable by death. Thoughts directed towards their leaders, towards the bastards who caused this godforsaken war and sent their nation spiraling into hell. It wasn't treason; it was the willingness to right the wrongs of their political commanders.

They would conspire together during the quiet periods between battles, in the uneasiness of the desert night. A sniper, a human weapon, and an infantryman. They would formulate fantastic plots of restoring their country back to its former glory, a land free of corruption and violence, one worthy of its people's faith. Where ordinary people weren't sent to the frontlines and turned into sinners.

And so they kept their fingers on the trigger and their eyes on the enemy, in the hopes of making it out alive to make their fantasies a reality. To maybe one day create a perfect world.


	4. Chapter 4: Grave

4 – Grave

Scattered stars lit up the obsidian sky of Central, breathing life into the solitude of the night. The moon was a sliver of gold, shy and silent. The city was resting in the soft grasp of serenity, the usual racket of its outspoken citizens long forgotten in the quiet darkness. Everyone had long since retired to the comfort of their beds to dream of sunlight and blue skies.

Except for two, who currently sat on steps worn with generations of footsteps. They sat close, but not too close, sharing the occasional glance. They both knew that they should head to their respective homes, and join the rest of the city's population in slumber, but they would much rather enjoy each others company on such a beautiful night.

With a sparkle in his onyx eyes, the taller of the two turned to his companion and took a risk. "Lieutenant, what do you want to do before you die?"

The blonde tilted her head in his direction, slightly taken aback by the personal question. "A lot of things, I guess," she said after a moment. "Why?"

"A lot of things, huh?" He ignored her question, and rubbed his chin with his hand. "Like what, Riza?"

Riza leaned back, for once letting it slip that he had referred to her by her first name. It was just the two of them. There were no witnesses. "Well… to follow and protect you, obviously, so we can save this nation, and prevent another massacre. And to help the Elric brothers get their bodies back." She sighed. "They've been through so much... and they're not much more than kids. And to finally unpack and actually get settled in my apartment." She laughed gently. "What about you… Roy?"

Roy smiled, a genuine smile that seemed almost foreign on his face. There hadn't been much reason to smile lately. "Of course, there's becoming Fuhrer and changing this country into a democracy. That will take a lifetime itself. And I _suppose_ helping the Elric brothers, as well. Fullmetal may be a pint-sized brat, but they're good kids. They deserve to be happy. And… there's one more thing." He leaned closer to Riza and lowered his voice. "I want to finally be able to be with the people I love. I thought it was selfish, but now I know it's only human. I've realized… that I don't want to go to the grave without that."

He tentatively reached out and with soft, almost nervous fingers, turned her head towards him. Their eyes glittered with the reflection of the starlight, hazel and black. They both became acutely aware of every heartbeat and every breath, as words that shouldn't have been said hung heavy in the cool air. Words that couldn't be acted upon.

"Roy-"

"I know," Roy mumbled, returning his hand back to his lap. "I just wish there was some way, some how-"

'There will be," Riza stated determinedly. Roy jumped slightly at her tone. "After all this is done, after everything is the way it should be, the way it's meant to be – there will be a time and place for that."

A smile once again twitched at the corner of Roy's lips. "Yes, you're right. Of course there will be. There must be." He smiled and stood up, and offered her his hand. She took it and stood beside him, not entirely removing her hand from his. "It's getting late… Mind if I walk you home?"

"Just this once," Riza smiled back at him. Just this once, because who knew how long it would be before the next opportunity came along? Before everything was the way it should be, the way it was meant to be?

**AN: Not sure if I like this as much as the other ones. I didn't want to do something expected, like the two standing at Hughes grave. Reviews and comments are greatly appreciated, as always. **


	5. Chapter 5: Heiki

**005. Heiki (Weapon)/Heiki (Fine)**

"I'm fine."

"Like hell you're fine! If you were fine, you wouldn't be lying in a hospital bed with several broken ribs and countless stitches! Just what in the world were you thinking, lieutenant?"

"I was saving your life!"

Riza's head was propped up on several pillows, her slim body hidden beneath clean linen sheets. Her sharp features were marred by crisscrossing lacerations and ugly bruises, her tawny eyes defiant and firm. She was generally the person _causing _injuries, not receiving them – she looked incredibly out of place, covered in bandages with an IV in her arm. Roy stood over her menacingly, with an expression grim enough to give the reaper a run for his money. There was an air of quiet violence to him, as though at any moment he could snap and send his lieutenant on a trip to hell.

"I had everything under control! If you had just stayed in your position, the operation would have gone as planned. You could have a little more faith in my abilities!"

"I have plenty of faith in you… you know that." Riza's glare relented, her face softening. Roy sighed and ran a calloused hand through his inky black hair, squeezing his eyes shut. Staying mad at Riza was near impossible; as infuriating as she could be, she was _his _lieutenant, and he was _her _colonel. They concealed each other's flaws and enhanced their better traits; they were half and half, one and the same.

"I'm sorry, Riza." Roy spoke just above a whisper. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair next to her bed, the usual stoic mask he wore discarded as the truth spilled out. "I don't want anything to happen to you. I'd rather die than let something happen to you. There was so much blood… I thought you were a goner. I thought you weren't going to wake up." His eyes shimmered with emotion. "I was _scared, _Riza."

"And how do you think I would have felt?" Riza fidgeted and changed position to get a better view of her commanding officer. "I care about you too. It's not just my job to protect you; I do it because I _want _to. I could have walked away years ago. Lived a normal life. But I didn't, because I need _you _in my life. And I need you _alive._" Her voice was thick with emotion, carrying the heavy burden of forbidden sentiments.

Roy gently took her hand, rubbing her palm with his thumb. After a short silence, he mumbled, "We're falling apart as bad as the Elric brothers, aren't we?"

Riza laughed quietly, an angelic sound if there ever was one. "Yeah, I guess we are."

**AN: This was written a lot differently than the other themes so far; it's more direct, and I'm not sure if I like it as much as the others. I want to thank everyone, again, who has reviewed this far. You all deserve hugs and cookies.  
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	6. Chapter 6: Death

6. Death

Riza held the tiny, lifeless bundle in her arms, cradling it maternally against her chest. She brushed her cheek along its soft, still warm pelt, ignoring the salty tears stinging her eyes. It was hard to believe that the limp body she held so tenderly was once a mischievous, affectionate ball of fur, which followed her everywhere with light paw steps and an expressive gaze. She always believed that her precious dog thought he was a human, with the spark of intelligence that glittered in his dark eyes. Now those eyes were forever closed, bright with death.

"He was a good dog." The voice was like a low rumble, deep and reassuring. "He never left your side, not once. He really loved you. He would have thrown himself in front of a homunculus to protect you"

Riza lifted her head, her cheeks wet with shameless tears. "And of all things, he gets ran over by a drunk-ass driver." She laughed sharply, her usually beautiful laugh staccato and raw. "Fate's funny that way." She patted Black Hayate's head, smoothing down his ears.

"Death does have a sense of humor." Her closest friend and superior officer strode closer to her, and reached out to stroke Hayate's fur. "We're just not always in on the joke." He paused and took in her disheveled appearance and stricken face. "Will you be okay?" he murmured quietly.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." She wiped away her tears with the back of her free hand. "I just… have to accept this. It's going to be so strange… waking up without him." She offered him a sad smile, before burying her face once again in Hayate's fur, not wanting to let go of her beloved pet.

She jumped slightly as she felt a pair of strong arms encircle her waist, lightly pulling her close to the warmth and security of the one person she trusted. She changed position, and rested her cheek on Roy's chest, still supporting Hayate. "If you ever need anything…" She felt the vibrations of his voice, comforting and safe. "Just let me know. I don't want to see you in pain, Riza."

Riza sighed, and snuggled closer while tightening her grip on Hayate. Her sad smile grew a bit bigger. "I'll be fine, Roy. I promise."

**AN: Yeah, definitely not my best. Between several research papers and leaning Japanese, my mind is _shot. _Hopefully the next few themes will be back up to par. Feedback is always great, by the way (hint, hint). Thanks everyone for the support this far, I truly appreciate it!  
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	7. Chapter 7: Crime and Punishment

7. Crime and Punishment

Roy Mustang's world was black and white, a monochromatic perception devoid of color, of life. The delicate blue of the sky was a somber gray; the brilliant green of the leaves a dismal shade; the fiery warmth of the sun a dark mass of hate. But although he saw a thousand hues of a colorless spectrum, he felt and thought an angry red.

Roy followed an unwavering philosophy of equivalent exchange. He felt the world was governed by the principle of crime and punishment. For every sin, there will be a justifiable retribution. But after the war – after that godforsaken, hellish war – he wasn't punished. He was treated as a _hero. _What kind of hero has the blood of tens, hundreds – no, _thousands _– stained on his hands? And so Roy decided to take matters into his own hands, and punish himself.

The first time was the worst. He felt nauseas as he saw the ruby fluid bead up on his wrist, the pain registering in his mind, violent and bright. He almost dropped the knife from shock, shock that he would even _consider _doing such a thing.

And then something _snapped._

All sane thought and reason dripped to the floor, leaving his body in the crimson flow. Slowly, drop by drop, until a small puddle pooled at his feet. He didn't want to stop there. He wanted to continue until his veins were cracked and dry, but what was left of his fragile state of mind wouldn't allow him. So he cleaned up his blood with a towel, arms throbbing, telling himself he would continue the next night.

Why would anyone want to put themselves through such pain, intentionally? Because it was better than the guilt, the restless guilt that settled in his gut and carved a home for itself in his chest. The guilt that ate him alive with sharp, tiny claws and glittering fangs. The guilt with eyes that were as sullen and dark as his own, that sized him up and looked deep into his psyche. Always watching.

It took a while for her to find out. Longer than he thought it would take her to catch on. For his part, he did a decent job hiding the scars. But find out she did. He had closed his eyes as she pulled up his sleeve, inspecting the tapestry of suffering that his arm had become. A latticework of scars from knives and razors, decorated with furious burn marks. It was beautiful in its sorrow, a glimpse into the shattered consciousness of a wretched soul.

Her fingers were delicate and warm, like rays of light. She gently traced the map of his pain, of his "deserved punishment". And soon she was crying, and he was crying, and the world stopped to allow them time to grieve. She sobbed openly into his chest, mumbling incomprehensible phrases of apologies and anger and sadness and love. And he held her, for once feeling a slight reprieve from the bleakness of his world. For once, he didn't feel red. He didn't feel hated and angry and scarred. He felt yellow… he felt hope.

**AN: I am by no means condoning self-harm or suicide. If you or anyone you know is depressed/suicidal, you need to tell someone, anyone - a parent, a teacher, a counselor, anyone you trust. There's no need for _anyone_ to throw their life away. As always, thanks for reading and drop a review if ya' got time.  
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	8. Chapter 8: StoreLined Streets

8. Store-lined Streets

She was always amazed at her uncanny ability to locate him in a crowd. It wasn't from his disheveled obsidian hair, or matching midnight eyes, narrow and sharp like a predator waiting for its prey to come within reach. It must have been the way he carried himself. His determined stride, straightened posture, imperial presence. Yet at the same time it was evident that he was a man who held the weight of the universe, impossible and brilliant, upon his broad shoulders. He was a man who had reached the breaking point many times, but never cracked, never collapsed from the pressure of his burdens.

She slowly made her way to him, weaving effortlessly through the mass of simple citizens; businessmen, schoolchildren, rowdy teenagers, aging mothers, loving couples. She reached him outside a curio shop, where he had paused to inspect the overpriced trinkets through the unwashed windows. He noted her company with a short nod, before continuing on his way, towards whatever destination he had in mind. She walked side by side with him, one of the few opportunities she had to not trail the respectable one and a half steps behind.

And here, on the store-lined streets, with matching strides and wearing civilian clothes, they could pretend they were almost _normal. _They blended into the diverse gathering of people naturally, like watercolors bleeding into each other to create a translucent rainbow. Their distinguishing features became unnoticeable as they became just two of many, part of a whole. They were no longer Riza Hawkeye and Roy Mustang; they were now a nameless couple.

They said nothing, because there was nothing to talk about. They peered through shop windows, examined the merchandise, but never entered a building or bought anything. They didn't do much to acknowledge the other, although they secretly soaked up each other's companionship, basking in the glow of the other's presence. Their chests seemed to swell with warmth that rivaled the sun, fiery yet gentle. There was no need to express themselves, as a feeling that strong could only be mutual.

Besides, sweet words and constant doting weren't really their style.

**AN: Two updates in as many days? I'm shocked too. I'm not sure how I feel about this one; it didn't really go anywhere, but at the same time it feels like it doesn't need to. I'd love to know what your opinions are. **


	9. Chapter 9: Unknown Past

9. Unknown past/Before we know each other

Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes was the inquisitive type, to say the least. He had the curious mind and hyperactivity of a small child, along with the intelligence and cunning he earned from years of experience and observation. A dangerous combination. He noticed the most minute of details, the tiniest of movements, the softest of breaths, and registered them in his mind, comprehending them with inhuman speed. It was because of this that, despite being an obnoxious family man, he was one of the most alert and reliable soldiers in the military.

But there was one engima that he couldn't make sense of. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't wrap his head around the conundrum of Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye. There was _something _going on between the two. Even his daughter could figure that out. But exactly what remained a mystery. There was the basic information – Riza was the daughter of Roy's alchemy teacher, they both shared the same goal, they were reunited in Ishbal, and have been side by side ever since. Most people would take that as an answer and move on to other, better things to do. Not Hughes.

He knew that their past was just the beginning of the tangled web that held them together. There was something more, something greater than a lifelong friendship. And Hughes eventually realized that no amount of meddling or spying would reveal what that 'something more' was. If he wanted to find out, he would have to ask the one of the subjects of his curiousity himself.

"Roy, what do you think of the Lieutenant?" He and the colonel were walking home from headquarters, their breaths leaving in plumes of vapor in the chilly night air. The question hung in between the two men for a few footsteps, before Roy chuckled, sufficiently surprising Hughes.

"She's an efficient, capable soldier. Never leaves a task unfinished, and even finishes the tasks I'm too lazy to finish." He chuckled again. "She's also smart and quick on her feet. I wouldn't trade her for the world." Roy came to a sudden stop, and looked Hughes in the eyes. "Why are you asking, exactly?"

"Just wondering." Hughes shrugged. The two officers resumed walking, for once thankful for their wool uniforms as a breeze picked up. "She means a lot to you," Hughes spoke quietly. It wasn't a question, it was a statement, calm and affirming.

"Yeah, you could say that." His voice was even and his pace didn't slow. "Before we knew each other, I was mad at the world. As you know, my living situation wasn't the greatest. I didn't know either of my parents, and I lived in a brothel. Not exactly the best place to grow up. I didn't have any friends, unless you count my 'sisters', who just took pity on me. I was a pissy little brat." Hughes listened attentively, observing every syllable, and every flicker of emotion that crossed his friend's face.

"When I first met her, we didn't talk much. We just exchanged pleasantries, simple hellos and goodbyes. As time passed we started to have actual conversations, got to know each other, and spent our free time enjoying each other's company. And I began to realize, maybe the world wasn't so bad after all. Maybe God didn't hate me." At this, Hughes smiled, a face splitting grin.

Roy's eyes narrowed dangerously, his gentle gaze turning into a fierce glare. He suddenly became suspicious of Hughe's motives. "You better wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Hughes, before I melt it off."

Hughes instantly stopped smiling, and decided it would be in his best interest to get back on Roy's good side. "Sorry, just, you know, that was a good story and you know-" Roy's face darkened significantly. "I mean, um, what I meant was…" _Screw it. There is no getting back on Roy's good side after this. _"You know what, I promised Gracia I would make dinner, I should probably go home and get that started, you know…" He dashed off, leaving Roy behind, shaking his head. Hughes was an interesting character, alright.

As soon as he was sure he was out of Roy's line of vision, the grin was firmly back in place, his eyes twinkling. _How cute._ Maybe he hadn't untangled their entire relationship (that would take a lifetime, he supposed) he at least knew the basis for it. At least he knew that he and Roy weren't as different as Roy liked to believe. He only hoped one day that Roy would be able to love without limits.

**AN: This is the first time I've written about Hughes, so if there are any out of character moments, feel free to flame (I like it hot). This is also the longest theme I've written yet, so... cheers to that, I guess.**


	10. Chapter 10: Promise

**AN: I wanted to try something different for this one, something more lighthearted. I hope it came out well.**

10: Promise

The moon hung directly overhead, suspended above the slumbering city by transparent hands. The stars were few and between, scattered here and there in the endless abyss. It was a beautiful night, but all of the residents were too busy sleeping to admire it. Except for one, that is.

Edward Elric held the phone to his ear, his metallic fingers tapping impatiently against the device. He heard ringing, sounding tinny and distant in the speaker. He was about to give up and place the phone back on it's hook, when the buzzing stopped and a voice, thick and diluted from sleep answered. "'Ello?"

"Hey, Human Matchstick! I thought you weren't gonna answer!" Ed's voice seemed far too loud and exuberant for the middle of the night.

"Fullmetal? That you?" There was a scraping sound, and the drowsiness in Roy's voice disappeared entirely. "What the hell do you think you're doing? It's two in the morning! Most sane people are trying to sleep! And I told you not to call me that!"

"Sure thing, Colonel Bastard. So, do you know why I'm calling you?" His voice was teasing and playful. Roy, however, was not amused in the least.

"No, Fullmetal, I _don't _know." He sighed. "Please enlighten me."

"Well you see, it's because of this certain _habit _you've developed over the years since we've known eachother." Roy didn't have to see Ed's face to know that he was smirking. "Some people say that I'm… vertically challenged. And you have made it your game to call me out on it everytime you see me."

"So… you're calling me at two in the morning because I call you short?" _It is way too early for this, _Roy thought.

"Yep! So for everytime you've called me – that word – or any variation of it, I'm going to call you in the middle of the night!" Ed was incredibly proud of himself. _That will teach that morally bankrupt bastard to never make fun of my height again._

"You _cannot _be fucking serious," Roy groaned. "How could you possibly even keep track of every time I've ever called you…" He corrected himself. "Made fun of your height?"

"Easy!" Ed practically jumped. "Since we've met, you've insulted my height a good 529 times!"

"Again, you cannot be fucking serious." Roy scowled. "Next time we meet, Fullmetal Shrimp, I'll – "

"530 times!" Ed exclaimed giddily.

"-rip your antenna off!" There was a burst of static as Roy changed position. This was ridiculous. Fortunately, Roy knew a way to shut the brat up. "You know what, I'm done talking to you. I'll let the lieutenant take over."

"The lieutenant? What do you mean?" Ed's joyous expression turned to confusion. Did he mean –

"Hello? Ed?" The voice was groggy and slow, but without a doubt it was Lieutenant Hawkeye's. "What are you doing calling at this time? All I heard were bits and pieces… do the two of you always have to argue?"

Ed ignored her questions. He had too many of his own. What was Hawkeye doing at the Colonel's house at night? What was – no. There was _no _way. But… there was no other explanation… the lieutenant and the colonel… together?

"Um…" Ed's face burned bright red. This was awkward.

"What are you – oh." Riza realized why Ed was rendered speechless. She knew what it must seem like to him… which was pretty accurate to the truth But she couldn't tell him about her and Roy, could she?

"It's not like that, Ed," She said quickly, her voice still layered with sleep. "We're on an undercover mission…" It was an awful excuse, and it got worse as she realized what she just said. "And by 'undercover', I mean 'top secret'." Now _she _was blushing.

"No she doesn't!" Roy interjected loudly. This couldn't get much worse.

Ed remained dumbfounded as he listened to a harsh smacking sound that he assumed was the lieutenant slapping Roy. He still didn't speak as he heard near inaudible whispering. After a few moments, he found he couldn't stay quiet much longer. "Um… I think I'm just gonna… go now…" How eloquent.

"Wait!" It was Riza's voice, sharp and finally free from the tendrils of sleep. Ed stayed on the line as he heard her exhale softly. "Yes, Roy and I are… together. But you can't tell _anyone. _Do you understand?" Her voice returned to the militaristic sternness he was used to.

"Y-yes, Lieutenant, I promise. I won't tell a soul! Now, um, I'm… gonna go." He hung up before hearing her reply.

Well, that didn't exactly go as planned.

Roy and Riza cuddled close to each other, Riza resting in his arms. "That will teach the punk to call me in the middle of the night again."


	11. Chapter 11: Liar

011. Liar

Countless shards of glass, uneven and translucent, were strewn haphazardly across the kitchen floor. They sparkled iridescently, reflecting the sunlight that leaked through the open windows, a pleasant breeze ruffling the curtains and bringing the scent of blossoming flowers and the quiet promise of rain. Scarlet stained the edges of the glittering fragments, red paint on pristine perfection. Fingers, lacerated and calloused, gripped a broken bottle, it's contents having long since seeped into the floor, smelling of liquor and long nights. A half-conscious figure lay awkwardly in a heap, mouth numb with the bittersweet taste of defeat.

His consciousness bubbled up in a foggy haze, eyes partially opened, senses dulled. Lost in an alcohol and despair-induced trance, unaware of the opening and closing of the front door, or the steady crunching of glass underfoot and angry cuss words. It wasn't until a hand shook his shoulder violently that he became alert and responsive to his surroundings. He squinted bloodshot eyes at the person kneeling beside him, trying to match a name to the face. "Ergh… Riza? 'Hat you?"

"Yes, it's me, _sir." _Her voice was threatening, dangerous, professional. She was not pleased.

"Wha… what are you doing 'ere?" He made no effort to sit up, preferring to lie in the debris caused by last night's debauchery. He had no strength left to speak of.

"Getting _you. _It's a good thing you never bother to lock your door." She leaned in closer. "You _do _know what time it is, don't you?"

"Uh…" He licked his lips, still tasting of alcohol and sin. "I dunno."

She lowered her face inches from his. "It's _noon._" She whispered sinisterly. "You were supposed to be at work _hours _ago."

"Oh yeah." He coughed weakly, and then turned his head away from her. Tapered fingers gripped his chin and yanked him back to look her in the eyes. Sullen red eyes met furious tawny. She relinquished her hold on him and shuddered as she realized exactly what she saw in his eyes… or lack thereof.

"Let me guess; you don't care." Her mouth a stern line, body tense.

He didn't reply, just rolled over so he was facing away from her again. Away from his duties and dreams.

"Are you telling me that this is all for nothing? That you're just going to throw your life away?" Her words were like razors, but the fury in her voice was replaced by a deadly calmness. "Are you just going to lay there, living in the past, refusing to make a difference?" Her hand rested on his shoulder. "Are you really going to become _just like them?" _

He shrugged. "I told you, I don't care. I don't care what happens anymore. Everyone… everyone can go to hell as far as I'm concerned." He turned over once again to look at her, wearing an emotionless mask of detachment. But the barely noticeable tremble of his lower lip revealed the truth.

"Liar," she whispered against his ear.

**AN: ...And so we're firmly back in the angst department. ****Thanks to everyone who's been with me so far, and reviews are always loved. **


	12. Chapter 12: Proof

12. Proof

"What is the average yearly rainfall in Ishval?"

Roy's face contorted in concentration, his blind eyes squinting. "Hm… 4 inches?"

"Close. 2 ½ inches." Riza turned a yellowed page in the thick volume she held in her lap, the tiny print smudged and in some parts unreadable. The textbook certainly wasn't up to date, but it was the best they could do since the Central Library had yet to be repaired from the fire months before, and Sciezka hadn't been seen or heard from in weeks. _Months. Has it really been that long since our lives became part TV drama and part living hell?_

Roy scowled in frustration. "Dammit, I _knew _that." He raised his hand to his forehead and sighed. "I'll get it right next time around."

Riza arched an elegant eyebrow. "You're really taking this seriously."

"I have to," was his simple reply. He tried to look at his companion, but ended up staring a couple inches above her head and to the left. His eyes were wide, like a small child's, and a thousand shades of gray. Riza felt she get lost in the swirling depths of his sightless gaze, exploring every crevice and corner of his mind, getting tangled in his thoughts and emotions. This man, as exasperating and immature as he could be, never ceased to be a constant source of amazement. She wanted nothing more than to understand what makes him… well, _him._

"Everything I've been through – we've been through – is proof that I have to keep moving forward," he continued in his deep voice. "Losing my eyesight…" He paused and lifted a bandaged hand to his milky eyes. "It's just one of many obstacles in my path, and soon, like the rest, it will be behind me." He smiled. It wasn't a smirk, it wasn't a grin, it was just a plain, wonderful smile. "I have to keep moving forward, even if I can't see what's in front of me."

"I couldn't agree more." Riza's smile trickled into her voice, light and affectionate. In her honest opinion, Roy Mustang was a modern marvel. The way his eyes, sightless as they were, lit up with sparks of determination when he spoke. The way he could make the simplest of words and gestures seem like monumental, Herculean feats only he was capable of. His deep, pronounced timbre that always filled the room, no matter how softly he spoke. She knew everything about him, had been by his side for nearly her entire lifetime, but she would never become jaded of his presence.

"You're smiling. I made you smile." Roy's face brightened even more, making him look several years younger.

"Is that so hard to believe?" Riza's laugh was warm and lilting. "I am happy some of the time, you know."

"I wish you smiled more when I was able to actually see it." His faced sobered briefly, before returning back to a cheerful expression. "But knowing you're happy is more than enough."

"I'm only happy because you're happy." Her fingers swept his bangs away from his forehead. "And together, we'll keep moving forward. Through the dark."


	13. Chapter 13: Betrayal

13. Betrayal

The harsh click reverberated throughout the damp room, blood-chillingly ominous. The weapon gleamed silver, a metallic platinum. Numb, white fingers trembled as they tightly gripped the handle, a hairsbreadth away from the trigger. Breaths were rapid and shaky, staccato with anxiety. Hurried heartbeats daring to break free from their flesh and bone prison, pounding against a heaving chest.

A creature, slimy green skin and huge eyes, struggled to fill its tiny lungs as a gloved hand tightened its grip around its fragile body. A nearly inaudible choking sound. It focused its foggy gaze on the intimidating man, straddling the border of insanity, perhaps already too far gone to be saved. The shadows and lines of his face were evidence that he had nearly reached the point of no return.

The creature continued to fidget and gasp, fear worming its way into its delicate mind. The marksman's aim wavered between the immortal monster and the all-too-mortal alchemist. The world spun precariously, colors bleeding, floor tilting, shapes distorting. A sick feeling settling in the pits of their stomachs, mouths dry, tasting sour. The flow of time was disrupted, reality collapsing.

The weapon's aim came to rest on the tall figure. Gripped with resolve, the marksman bit her lip and kept her arms steady. All it would take was one bullet, one wound, one pool of blood. One corpse, one ruined dream, one shattered heart. Just one.

It wasn't a betrayal. It wasn't a rebellion. It was a soldier honoring a promise.

**AN: A bit of a different writing style this time. I honestly wasn't too sure what to write.**


	14. Chapter 14: Covered Eyes

13. Covered Eyes

After spending the last week in unending, oppressive darkness, the colors and shapes of mundane objects were intoxicating. The immaculate white of the hospital sheets, like fallen snow. The mingling of tans and pinks on his skin, healing wounds and glaring scars. The dark, dark blue eyes of the doctor in front of him, regarding him calmly. The elegant dance of gray shadows on scuffed floor. The brilliant pinks and gold and blues of the sky through the window, the sun rising slowly to greet the world. And, of course, the magnificent red of the smooth, hard stone the good doctor held in his hand.

He blinked several times, his vision blurring, trying to adjust to the amazement of once again being able to see. There were thousands of messages being sent to his brain, too many to fully comprehend. He covered his eyes with his scarred hands, blocking out the vividness and intensity of a rediscovered world.

"Are you okay?" The doctor's scratchy voice sounded close to him, and Roy knew if he removed his hands he'd find a mottled face a short distance away.

"Yeah, I'm fine… It's just, the intensity of it…" He parted his fingers and peered through the gaps they made, the light and colors at first blinding, but eventually fading to a bearable glow. He brought his hands down to his lap and found that his eyes no longer burned from the brightness. He smiled kindly. "Thank you, Dr. Marcoh. I give you my word that I will uphold my side of the promise."

Marcoh could have been smiling as well, but it was hard to tell from his disfigured features. "Of course, Mustang. I would expect nothing less." His chair creaked as he got up to leave the room, but Roy stopped him.

"If you see her out there… Please tell her to visit me." He tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice, but it managed to sneak in anyways.

"You don't even have to ask. I'm sure she's outside the door right now, standing guard. Never leaves your side, she doesn't." Marcoh's voice was full of amusement. He turned the handle on the door, and sure enough, Riza Hawkeye was waiting on the other side, her blond hair spilling over her slender shoulders.

She and Marcoh shared a small nod, and Marcoh left, winking at Roy over his shoulder, the gesture almost comical. Riza slowly strolled over to Roy's bed, and she sat in the chair recently vacated by the doctor. "So… the stone worked, I take it?"

"Sure did." Roy's smile grew into a grin at the sight of his favorite person. Nobody but Riza could have that effect on him. Just the musical flow of her voice was enough to put him in a good mood. "I'm glad to see your wound has healed."

Riza's fingers glided up to the scar tissue on her neck, a violent reminder of the events of the past few weeks. The skin was bumpy and off-colored, contrasting fiercely with her fair skin. "Yes, but I still have to take it easy. It hurts to turn my head in certain directions, but it will go away eventually. And that ugly scar will always be there."

"Nonsense." Riza gave him a look of confusion. "I don't think it's ugly. Everything about you is beautiful."

Riza trembled slightly, and she wrung her hands together. There was a certain sadness in her expression, turning the corners of her lips downward. "Sir…"

"No." Roy interrupted her abruptly. "I know what you're going to say, and I don't want to hear it." His voice was penetrating and sharp, but at the same time soft and caressing. "I don't want to be known only as 'sir'." Riza was about to speak again, but Roy continued quickly cutting her off. "Why does it always have to be superior and subordinate with us?" He paused briefly, and met Riza's amber gaze. While he was blind, all he had wanted was to look into her tawny eyes and say those words. "Why is it always colonel and lieutenant? Mustang and Hawkeye? Why can't we be just Roy and Riza, Riza and Roy?"

There was a long silence, that seemed to last a century. They kept their eyes trained on the other, neither daring to avert their gaze. It may have been wrong, but it felt so right.

"But… What if we get caught? Are you willing to put your goals in jeopardy, for this?"

"Yes." His immediate response made her jump slightly in her seat. "I've spent my entire life working to make the world a better place, to turn Amestris around. But I refuse to do that without you by my side. Without you, everything is hollow and pointless. I don't care if it's selfish, it's the truth." He tilted his head towards her, anticipating her response.

She leaned forward, her face only inches from his. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course!" There was an strength in his voice that rivaled the vibrancy in her eyes. "I wouldn't say if it wasn't true."

Their faces were only a few centimeters apart now, the distance closing rapidly. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Her breath was warm and sweet on his lips.

"Yes." And with that, they finally shared their first kiss.

**AN: 'Bout time. Probably pretty cheesy, but hey, it makes up for the angst of the last theme. If you have the time, a review would be pretty nice. **


	15. Chapter 15: The Scent of Blood

15. The Scent of Blood

"We really are monsters."

The newly appointed Brigadier General Mustang stood on a small mound, one of many in an ocean of sand. He bent over and picked up a handful of the loose grains, feeling them crunch in his gloved hands. They slipped out between his fingers and were caught in the dry desert wind, being flung to the far reaches of the barren abyss. Remnants of homes and temples, scorched and serrated, dotted the arid landscape. There were no other signs of life; not a blade of grass, not a single beating heart. Even the sky was a dull gray.

He might have been imagining, but he could have sworn the air still carried the scent of blood, pungent and acidic. He had never known that blood had a distinct smell until he had arrived in Ishval years ago, alongside countless other soldiers. Now it was just one of the many burdens that had its fangs firmly planted in his neck.

Many people had been against him returning to this parched hell. Ishval had nearly destroyed him the first time; who's to say it wouldn't do it again? It was the only place that could reduce grown men to tears, break down the strongest of souls and ruthlessly tear apart lives with merciless hands. And everyone close to the general knew that he was already near the edge, his toes hanging over the endless chasm of madness.

"You shouldn't be out here." The recently promoted Captain Hawkeye had walked up to him inaudibly, as silent and efficient as a wraith. Roy suppressed his surprise, trying to look relaxed and at ease.

"Probably not." He rumbled in agreement. "But I had to." He once again surveyed the dry wasteland, paying attention to every grain of sand and speck of dust.

"I know, but it's going to be dark soon, sir." Sure enough the smoky sky was darkening and a cold chill came over them. It was hard enough navigating the desert during daytime, but without light it would be like exploring a labyrinth, without any markers or guides. "We should head back to camp. Scar and Miles will be waiting."

"Yes, you're right." He said the words slowly, still staring at the destruction and trying to recall what it had looked before the war. He found that he couldn't.

He felt Riza grip his arm and turn him around, forcing him to head back in the direction from whence they came. She knew that Roy could very well spend eternity examining the ruins, reveling in self-hatred and distaste. She simply wouldn't allow that. She dragged him forward, following the imprints their boots had left in the sand.

"How ironic." Roy's voice was hoarse, stuck somewhere in his throat. "The very thing that damns us makes us gods." He held out his hands, the alchemic circles stitched in his gloves a blood red.

Riza deliberately slowed down, and squeezed his elbow. "Who's to say that destruction and creation aren't the same thing? It all depends on how you look at things."

Roy looked up, searching the sky. "You're right. As always." He smirked, and returned his sight to the ground, watching their footsteps. "Where would I be without you, Lieu- Captain?"

"You'd be a miserable trainwreck." She was joking, but there was truth in her words. Roy knew that he would have been dead, or lost to his vices years ago if it weren't for the stunning woman walking beside him.

They both made their way back to the camp in silence, the wind letting up to a gentle breeze.

**AN: I hope I'm not being too repetitive with these themes. It feels like I'm stating the same things over and over in different situations. If that's happening, just let me know. Thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16: Unreachable Voice

016. Reaching voice & Unreachable with a voice

_Look at me._

She tried to open her eyes, she really did. But her eyelids were lead curtains, refusing to budge. Images flashed in the darkness of her not-quite-conscious daze, one by one, of intricate tales and indescribable beauty. Silhouettes interweaved and formed hypnotic portraits, of love and grief. Viscous pastels dripped across her vision, leaving trails of chromatic residue. It was spellbinding.

_Can you hear me?_

She couldn't be certain that she had heard the voice, or thought it. It was as thick and slow as honey, golden and sweet. She clung to it, entangling her mind in its tendrils, letting it trickle into her skull. The reaching voice held desperation, anxiety, but underneath it were tones of fearful affection and violent attachment. Strangely comforting.

_Please, stay with me. _

Where would she go? She could never leave this place, with its magnetic allure and unparalleled wonder. She was drifting through cottony clouds, aqua skies, towards a radiant horizon. Her body was weightless, being born aloft by a pleasant breeze. Was it her imagination, or were hands underneath her, supporting her weight, carrying her to her destination? Was it all a dream?

_Help will be here soon._

The choked whisper tore apart the beautiful world. Black gaps opened in the sky, the shrill screech of sirens and hoarse screams filtering through the holes. The clouds dissipated, the hands beneath her faltered, the breeze turned into a roaring cyclone. The pastels, the broad spectrum of colors, splattered everywhere, a sticky multi-hued mess. The elegant shadows became deformed, demonic creations, tangible darkness. And suddenly there was a flood of suppressed pain; pain that she wouldn't allow herself to feel. Intense, searing pain. She felt like every molecule of her body was being ripped apart, bit by unbearable bit. And she was screaming, a high note of insanity.

_Don't go!_

At this point she was unreachable. She was lost in the monsoon. The intense pain gave way to tingling numbness. Everything was black and red and gray. A sadistic rainbow. She didn't know where she was going, didn't care. She just wanted it to _stop. _

_I need you!_

But she was already gone.

**AN: This was written differently than normal; I wanted to try something new. I guess I don't really have a particular writing style. Hope y'all liked it.  
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	17. Chapter 17: Scars

17. Scars

Counting the scars that decorated their body, like so many stars in the sky, was an impossible task. Marks twisted and twirled over their skin, along the curves in their backs, the soft flesh of their stomachs, up and down their arms and legs. Tissue that had been pierced by bullets, sliced open by silver blades, and burnt from explosions. The erratic patterns of wounds were hidden underneath concealing military uniforms, away from wandering eyes. But when they were visible, most people turned away, wincing, afraid to gaze too long at the painful display that told such violent stories.

_Blood flowing from sliced veins, as endless as eternity. A knife shakily carving into the back of a hand, a perfect circle. Fire licking at fatal wounds, sealing the skin with splitting shrieks. A sword moving in fluid motion, slitting a throat with precision and quiet anger. Twin blades puncturing palms, trapping the victim beneath the wielder._

The tragedies were too much for some to handle. They would visibly blanch, back away, and pretend they never saw the elaborate patterns. The burdens of being a dog of the military, dying and living like trash. The awful repercussions of trying to go beyond what is human.

Underneath the skin was another layer of scars. And these were the ones that counted. These were the ones that bound them together. Unlike the visible ones, these were beautiful, true works of art. Razor thin in some places, thick and bold in others. They weren't glaring and off-color; they were sparkling gold, soft pink, gentle blues and greens. They were the stories _behind _the stories, the scars behind the scars. And these scars were ones they would bear proudly, even if no one could see them.

They may die like trash, live like trash, and be treated like trash, but even trash like them has a reason to live.

**AN: Short, I know. I've been considering writing a multi-chapter story for a while… I'm not sure how it will turn out, but would any of you read it?**


	18. Chapter 18: I Don't Want to Realize

018. "I don't want to realize"

"Together." Such a simple word, three syllables, but it tasted like sugar and stung like ashes. They held onto each other tightly, afraid to let go and risk losing everything. He buried his face in her silky hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo mixed with hints of gunpowder. She pressed her face against his chest, feeling safe and secure. In the instable world they lived in, that meant everything.

They may have finally been at ease, but it would also be their undoing. They had been playing a dangerous game for years, stuck in a stalemate, but one wrong move (or was it a right move?) had led to them falling asleep in the same bed. And it was only a matter of time before fate came knocking at their door, with a devilish grin on its face and a loaded gun in its hand.

Oh, there would be repercussions. There always was. But it was hard to worry about that now. Not when they could enjoy the little time they had together, before their duties whisked them away, right back to the other's side (but light years away).

They convinced themselves that 'just once' wouldn't hurt. It was a lie; they both knew that 'just once' wouldn't cut it. Once they were over the edge, there was no coming back, and they had both taken the jump, hand in hand.

_You do realize this will never work, right?_

What was left of their common sense would remind them of this. That they were destined to fail, since they first laid eyes on each other. It was a cursed relationship, damned by Truth itself. But their answer was always the same.

_I don't want to realize._

__**AN: Another short one, but I rather like it.  
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	19. Chapter 19: Things One Cannot Understand

**AN: The idea for this one came from a scene in the Brotherhood movie, Sacred Star of Milos, but there aren't any spoilers; it's just Winry, Roy and Riza on a train to Table City. None of the dialogue or character interactions are taken from the movie. Also, there's implied self-harm in this chapter; just a warning.  
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019. Things one cannot understand

_Can't they ever just stay in one place?_

Winry sat in the booth across from Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye, as rugged scenery flew by at an alarming rate outside the train's windows. The rocky cliffs and sparse plant life was wildly different from the lush green fields and bustling cities that she was used to, but it was charming in it's own way.

_Please don't be doing something stupid like usual, you two._

"I wouldn't worry about them, Winry." Winry swore that the blonde lieutenant could read minds. "They're more than capable of handling whatever fate throws at them."

The colonel snorted. "Fate? That's funny. Whatever happens to them, it's their own damn fault." He crossed his arms and his signature irritating grin found its way onto his face. "How they're still in one piece is a miracle."

"You mean _besides _the fact that half of Ed's limbs are made of metal, and that Al _doesn't even have a body_?" Winry glowered at the officer; if it was possible to literally glare daggers, Mustang would have had a hundred stab wounds.

Roy frowned. "I didn't mean it like that." His face softened. "They've been through a lot, I know that. But it's only going to get rougher, especially now that they're military dogs. I just wish that they wouldn't be so foolhardy. The two of them have too much to live for to waste it all in other people's battles."

Winry shyly nodded, and returned to looking out the window, swallowing down the helplessness she felt. He was right; the brothers had gone through so much, but it was just the beginning. And she was completely powerless. Sure, she could fix Ed's automail, and offer support, but what good would that do in the long run? She couldn't fight beside them. She didn't know how to shoot a gun, or use alchemy. She was just a mechanic.

After a few minutes, Roy quietly excused himself, leaving Winry and Riza alone. There was a strange, but comfortable silence, before Riza started to talk. "You're more important to them then you think." Again with the mindreading.

Winry sighed and slumped in her seat. "But I can't do _anything. _I can't protect them, or help him get their bodies back. I can't do anything but sit back and watch."

Riza shifted in her seat. "You're always there for them. That's more than enough. Just having someone to turn to… that's the greatest help you can offer."

"But they never tell me anything. I'm just _there."_

"That's not true." The conviction in the lieutenant's voice shocked Winry. "If there's something they don't tell you, it's because they don't want to make you worry. They love you. They're trying to protect you, just as you're trying to protect them. And you are. You take care of them; keep them on the right path. You're one of the reasons they're still carrying on with their quest. You're the reason why they haven't given up! Ed wouldn't have even been able to walk if it weren't for you! You _saved _them."

"I guess." Winry smiled, a warm feeling spreading throughout her body. Was what Hawkeye said true? Was she really that instrumental in their lives?

Her thoughts dissipated as she heard a noise like something shattering. It wasn't loud; in fact she wasn't even sure if she had heard it at all. She tilted her head and looked at Hawkeye, whose alert facial features signaled that she had heard it too. Of course she would; her sniper senses picked up on anything, even the most minute details. The Lieutenant was about to get up and investigate, when the train car's door opened and Mustang walked in.

He sat down beside Hawkeye, one of his hands clenched in a tight fist. His body was overly tense, and he was grimacing. Then Winry noticed the red stains on the sleeve of his uniform, a dark, viscous liquid dripping slowly from between his clasped fingers.

"Colonel! What hap-" She was cut off by a silencing glare from Hawkeye.

"But, he's bleed-" Again she was cut off, this time by the lieutenant's hand gripping her wrist. She mouthed the word "Don't".

Roy seemed completely unaware of the situation. He didn't seem to notice the blood, but he most have surely noticed the pain. On closer inspection, Winry noticed that there were tiny shards of glass that glittered like diamonds on his fingers.

_So that was the noise from earlier… it sounded like a mirror shattering…_

She glanced back and forth between the injured Colonel and the serious Lieutenant, who pretended there was nothing wrong. Maybe this was normal for them. Maybe this was a common occurrence. She played along, choosing to stare out the window once again than at wound. And she realized, maybe the relationship between her and Ed and Al wasn't all that different from that of Riza and Roy's.

They were both relationships full of things one cannot understand.


	20. Chapter 20: Murderer

**AN: While the last theme focused on the relationship between Winry and Riza, this one focuses on the relationship between Roy and Ed. This is something I've wanted to write for a long time, actually.**

20 'Murderer'

Colonel Mustang stepped out into the brisk autumn breeze, ready to head home after another grueling day of strenuous paperwork. He stretched, enjoying the fresh air, finally free from his stifling office. He started down the steps when he noticed a blonde teenager, slouching on the bottom stair, seeming unaware of the officer's presence.

"Fullmetal? What's wrong?" For someone with such a fiery disposition, Edward always seemed to be troubled. But who could blame him?

"It's Mother's Day." The response was uncharacteristically quiet, and devoid of emotion. His shoulders were hunched sullenly, his coat pulled around him tightly. Even his light hair seemed to be drooping under the weight of his misery.

Roy slowly strode down to just a few steps behind the young man, monitoring the trembling of his metal fingers and the tiny tremors that ran through his body. "Do you believe in God, Ed?"

Ed momentarily stopped shaking. "You called me by my first name, not Fullmetal."

"I asked you a question."

The boy pulled his coat even tighter around him. "No, I don't." He didn't elaborate any further.

The soldier took the last few steps and sat down next to the teen before speaking. "I don't either, to tell the truth. I believed once, but it was a long time ago." He glanced up and scanned the sky, as if the answers to life floated alongside the clouds. "But no matter what logic tells me, I know there must be_ someplace _beyond the stars. Or else life wouldn't have any purpose, and where would we be then?" He studied the youth. "And I know your mom is there, Ed." The blonde looked at his superior with cautious eyes. "I know she's somewhere greater, watching over you and your brother, waiting for the two of you to reach your goal. Smiling, with that twinkle in her eyes that all moms have. She's protecting you, even in death. And she doesn't want you to worry about her."

Ed turned his gaze to the sky as well, at the clouds as soft as whispers and the blue as welcoming as a loving embrace. He straightened up, relinquishing the tight hold on his coat. "Mom used to make us the most delicious cookies." His eyes brimmed with surfacing memories. "They were chocolate chip. I don't know what ingredients she used, but they were the greatest thing Al and I have ever tasted. They were buttery and melted in your mouth. Nothing compared to them." He paused. "They were the last thing she ever made us, before she became sick." A steady smile grew on his face. "They were the best batch she had ever made. Al and I asked her what she put in them, if she added an extra ingredient. She said she had added extra love."

"Mothers always make the best food." Roy smiled as well, his own memories welling up. "My aunt – she raised me as her own – she would make the greatest food, especially her spaghetti. I would watch as she stirred the sauce, and boiled the pasta. And she would scold me, saying 'The food won't cook properly if you keep gaping at it!' So I'd leave, and pretend to play with my toys or my sisters, but after a few minutes I'd sneak back in and watch her again, and she'd pretend not to notice me, and she'd hum as she cooked…" He trailed off, and the two men laughed.

"Mothers are the best," Ed agreed. "I just… I wish I knew what she thinks of us now. What if she doesn't care for us anymore, after – "

"Never say that." Roy laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, the gesture shocking Ed. Roy wasn't exactly known to be the comforting type. "A mother's love is unconditional. If I can go to visit my aunt in my uniform, splattered with the blood of thousands… If she can still love me, a murderer… Then your mom will always love you, too."

The blonde lowered his head, and for a moment Roy thought he would start crying. But then Ed looked him in the eyes, and that stubborn spark was once again flickering in his golden irises. "Thanks, Colonel." Roy nodded, and Ed stood up, stretching his good arm. He started to walk away, headed off to who-knows-where, when he paused and looked over his shoulder. "And I don't think you're a murderer. So stop telling yourself you are one. What happened on the battlefield doesn't matter here. Your past shouldn't dictate your future." He paused. "That goes for the Lieutenant, as well. Tell her that."

Roy watched his figure recede in the distance, before getting up and beginning the trek home. _Believe me, Fullmetal, I don't want to simply be known as the 'hero of Ishbal.' I want to make up for the past. But how can I - how can either of us - when we can't even sleep at night? _

A voice floated through his mind, a memory come alive. _"Things might not be so great now. It might feel like your entire life is falling apart at the seams. But trust me, Roy-Boy, it can't rain forever. If the world really is governed by equivalent exchange, why, you'll have the brightest future."_

His despairing thoughts dissolved in the wake of the memory. _Yes. A bright future, just waiting for me. Hopefully, with her by my side... We've been through so much, that we can't back down now. It's right there in front of us. _

He stopped in his tracks, and headed in the opposite direction, away from his home. _There's someone I forgot to wish a Happy Mother's Day._


	21. Chapter 21: Repentance

21. Repentance/Confession

It seemed that no matter where they went, they couldn't escape from the shadow of Ishval.

It cast its thick, sludgy darkness over every available surface, coating the world in dreary obsidian. It crept around corners, oozed down stairwells, and dripped from the ceiling. It flooded their senses and suffocated them in their sleep, flooding their dreams. It followed them everywhere, flowing in the wake of their footsteps. It pulsed with every heartbeat and expanded with every breath they stole.

It wasn't a topic they openly talked about, but everyone knew about it. Even those who hadn't been part of the extermination campaign could feel the tangible sorrow that stalked the soldiers day and night. It was in every flinch when looking at the western part of an Amestrian map, or the tiny shudder that ran through their bodies at the slightest mention of the desert area. It was in the shadows beneath their eyes and the tremble in their fingers. Unspoken confessions.

They should have hung up their uniforms in distaste. They should have marched out of Central headquarters, leaving their previous life behind to fade into a distant memory of gunshots and smoke. They could have started anew, found mundane jobs, and carry on as a normal citizen, one of many, completely unaware and all the better for it.

Repentance isn't found in the barrel of a gun, or the ashes of the deceased. Salvation isn't hiding in the flash of grenades or the echo of gunfire. But still they load their weapons and set their sights on the 'enemy'.

_"The one thing worse than death is to avert your eyes from it. Look straight at the people you kill. Don't take your eyes off them for a second. And don't ever forget them, because I promise that they won't forget you." _

They wouldn't forget. The claws of Ishval were firmly lodged in their minds, like the talons of a Phoenix. A fiery regret, bright and burning with guilt. Searing hot.

But there would come a day when the suffering would end, and there would be no more need to pull the trigger. Nothing could replace a human life. But they would try as hard as they could, to make up for the tragedy, to bring hope to a world of mistrust and deceit. Like the Phoenix, they would rise from their own ashes, be reborn as something greater. And maybe one day they could look in the mirror without seeing the Devil.

_"The power of one man doesn't amount to much. But, however little strength I'm capable of... I'll do everything humanly possible to protect the people I love, and in turn they'll protect the ones they love. It seems like the least we tiny humans can do for each other."_


	22. Chapter 22: God

**AN: Sorry for the late update. I have a lot of exams coming up, as well as a major band competition, so I've had very little time to write, or, well, do anything for that matter. This theme is what I imagined Roy's encounter with the Truth when he was forced to open the gates went. I... experimented a little.  
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22. God

Light. Blinding, brilliant light. As white and pure as newly fallen snow, as radiant as the sun. And it was everywhere, above him, below him, in front of him. He realized with a gasp that there was no floor beneath his feet, but he wasn't floating or falling. It was though he was standing on thin air, or perhaps the light itself had solidified and bore his weight.

He felt a tightness in his hands, and felt a calm numbing sensation around the wounds Wrath had inflicted. They had been burning only moments ago with violent pain. He inspected his palms, and was amazed to find that the identical injuries were sealing themselves shut, from one end to the other, the edges aligning themselves and melding together into a faint scar. A few drops of blood squeezed out as the ends of the wounds came together, and dripped down his hand before falling towards his feet. They dissipated with a hiss before they could touch the blinding light.

"Can't have you making a mess now, Colonel."

The voice sounded like a choir made up of soprano angels, schoolchildren, and gravel-voiced demons, mixed with the screech of nails on chalkboard and the screams of the deranged. It was both beautiful and terrible, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up.

Roy cautiously turned around, not sure what he would be facing. But he certainly didn't expect a child. Or at least, that's what it seemed like. It was made of the same blinding light that the 'room' – he supposed it could be called that – was made of, outlined in jet black. A large grin adorned its otherwise featureless face, showing sharp teeth that could probably tear through skin and bones with ease.

Perhaps even more shocking was what lied beyond the child. A tall, wide door stood menacingly behind it, carved with Latin words and alchemic symbols. A deep sense of foreboding settled in Roy's gut. Whatever lay behind that door, it wasn't meant for mortal eyes.

"Who are you?" Roy tried to sound intimidating, but his voice wavered. This place was… unnerving, to say the least.

"Who am I?" The figure let out a harsh sound that could best be described as a cross between a child's giggle and maniacal laughter. It did little to ease Roy. "I go by many names. I am called the world, the universe, the truth. Alchemists call me the all, the one. Others call me God. But most importantly" – the creature tilted its head towards the soldier – "I am you."

An electric chill passed through Roy's body, running through his veins. His blood turned to ice. This… This must be the being that Fullmetal talked about. The "Truth". It took his leg... and his brother. But it wouldn't take anything from him, would it? He hadn't done anything… not willingly. What kind of – 'God' – would punish a person for someone else's sins?

_But I have sinned enough. He has every right to take everything from me, to take my life, even. I deserve it. Maybe not for this, but for everything else…_

"There's something you should see, alchemist." The figure gestured to the ominous door behind him.

Roy lurched dangerously forward as his surroundings blurred and shimmered like thousands of twinkling stars. When his eyes readjusted, he found himself inches from the towering gate. Writing was etched into it's surface, characters from ancient languages and elegant symbols. He had no idea what any of them meant, but he could feel their power, their meaning, gripping his mind. Involuntarily, he stretched a hand, still stained with blood, towards the door. Warmth spread across his palm as he came in contact with its smooth, hard surface.

"Go ahead, Colonel." The choir-like voice sounded behind him, somehow making his rank feel like an insult. "Take a peek."

The massive gate began to open, and golden light leaked out, washing over him. Then shadowy hands snaked out and clasped his wrist, their tiny fingers searing his arm. He tried to jump backwards, but the hands pulled him towards them, yanking him through the gap in the doors, beyond the gates…

Roy quickly forgot about the harsh pain the ethereal fingers left as millions of images flickered into his mind, like the world's fastest slide show. Glimpses of the past, the future. The creation of life, the tragedy of death. Symbols that he had never seen before, but somehow could comprehend. He saw the fall of Xerxes, the rise of Amestris. Strange transmutation circles, glittering red stones. And a face, one that he recognized well, with kind eyes and a wide grin.

"Hughes!" Roy reached towards his deceased companion, but came in contact with nothing but thin air. The images abruptly shattered, and were replaced with a cold darkness. Red eyes, the color of the Philosopher's Stone, peered at him through the gloom. The ghostly hands began to claw at him, their fingers morphing into sharpened claws. They scratched his face, leaving scarlet welts along his cheeks. They dragged him down, pulling him deeper into the darkness. They tightened around his throat, closing off his airways, lungs desperately trying to fill with oxygen. He sputtered and choked, hands clawing at the wraithlike arms, but to no avail. He was going to die.

_No. Not yet. Not after everything that's happened… I can't die here!_

There was a resounding boom and he felt himself roll backwards, being spat out of the gate. He landed heavily on his back, the brilliant light especially dazzling after the dreary blackness from the other side. Breathing heavily, he managed to get to his feet, his fingers running over his face, looking for the marks the creatures must have left. But there were none; he had emerged unscathed.

"How did it go, Colonel?"

"You bastard!" Roy gasped. He was still having trouble breathing. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Good question." The child stood to face him, and its body twisted and transformed until it was a featureless duplicate of Roy. "Exactly what should your payment be?"

"Payment?" Roy suddenly felt exhausted. "For… what? I didn't perform human transmutation. I didn't…"

"You saw the other side of the gate. You saw through the eyes of God."

"I didn't ask to! They made me… _You _made me… If you're God, aren't you supposed to be just?"

The creature's grin widened. "Pay up, Colonel." It walked steadily towards the soldier.

Roy scowled. "Fine, take whatever you want. My arm, my leg, anything! Just… Just promise you won't hurt Hawkeye." His shoulders slumped wearily.

"Interesting." The figure stopped in front of Roy. "But you see, I _am _just. I will do no harm to the Lieutenant. I only take from those who trespass in God's domain. You are a trespasser."

_Not of my own free will. You're doing this to me despite that fact. You are anything but just. But I suppose I deserve it all the same._

"Like I said, take what you want. But know that I will never have faith in a being such as you."

"Fine with me." The figure reached out and laid a hand on Roy's face. "I know exactly what your payment will be."

A soundless scream exited Roy's mouth. It felt like his skull was being ripped apart and stomped on. His eyes burned. The world turned a nondescript gray, and was fading fast. He felt the floor give out beneath him, the terrible sensation he was falling.

"Goodbye Colonel. Maybe we'll meet again one day."

Then everything turned to suffocating black.


End file.
